


Babylon

by altarf3_52



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 10:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18051131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altarf3_52/pseuds/altarf3_52
Summary: Dying seems to be impossible for Keith no matter what he does and regardless of whether he’s careful or not, hence he can be usually found with a cigarette perched between his lips and doing reckless things.Lance, his neighbor, is his last hope to finally escaping the torture of living a life he doesn't want--except Lance is too wholesome and kind for his own good.





	Babylon

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a work for another fandom, with a different pairing in mind. I've been using this as some sort of coping mechanism lately so it's kinda angsty. Splitting this into two parts otherwise I'll never post it because it's taking forever to put together. I've written fanfiction before but it's my first time doing it for this fandom. Feedback is welcome.
> 
>  **Warnings:** cussing, implied depression and uh, death wishes. Mild violence, mentions of guns and smoking ahead, too.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I'm not romanticizing any mental health conditions nor do I condone violence. If you find yourself struggling with your mental health please reach out and get help. If you feel like the topics included in this piece might trigger you or affect you in any way, I advice you take the proper measures to look after yourself (even if that means closing the page and not reading). Then again, I sorta channeled my negative thoughts and emotions into this to cope with stress and other issues.

*  
The memories of the summer of the year 1995 remain etched in Keith’s mind like a beautifully woven tapestry, crafted by the hands of an invisible entity that wanted to preserve those memories forever. He remembers laying for hours on the porch of his grandmother’s house in an attempt at fighting off the heat, though sometimes he’d have to get up and help with the chores that his grandmother couldn’t do on her own. He remembers becoming fascinated by the loud cicadas and spending night after night attempting to decipher their mysterious song, wondering if he’d ever be able to understand the message they were trying to convey to him. (Because that was clearly their intention.)

He also remembers the reigning silence of the night someone broke into the modest house and took away his grandmother’s life, leaving the then ten-year-old boy in the company of Death itself until help arrived. Keith had asked Death why his grandmother had to leave so soon but Death didn’t respond; instead, it made the cicadas play a special song only for the boy’s ears to hear. Death sang along with the cicadas and left just as the medical services and police arrived and found the boy sitting at the porch with his eyes closed and a peaceful smile on his face, which obviously confused both paramedics and policemen. Maybe the kid hadn’t seen yet the gruesome way in which his grandmother had been killed, they thought.

“Shush. The cicadas are playing for me tonight.” Little Keith said, oblivious to the concerned gazes that the adults around him exchanged amongst themselves. “He said it’s a very long song and that he’ll pick me up when it’s over. He didn’t say when, though.”

That was the last summer he spent at the countryside before he was taken away by Child Protection Services and sent to different foster homes until he turned old enough to live on his own. Many people had interrogated him about what happened the night that his grandmother passed away and regarding the cryptic things he said back then, but his answer was always the same.

“He told the cicadas to play me a song.”

_Who is he?_

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me his name and I don’t remember his face. He said he’d come back for me when the cicadas stopped playing.”

_When is that going to be?_

“I don’t know. This is a very long song and it’d be rude to interrupt them.”

_We’re not in summer and there are no cicadas around. How do you know they haven’t stopped playing?_

“I can hear them. They’re always playing, no matter what season we’re in or how far away we are. They know I’m listening and they’re happy to have an audience.”

Too many years have passed since then and Keith can still hear the cicadas despite the noises coming from the busy city below. It’s nighttime and everyone’s got somewhere to be and something to do, whether it’s meeting with some friends at the new club across town or going home to their families. Keith is too old to spend his nights clubbing but too young to settle down and start a family, although he’s never wanted one and therefore hasn’t made that a priority on his list. 

It’s the year 2112 and the cicadas have been playing for 117 years already, but Keith doesn’t look a day over twenty-four; that’s how old he was when the cicadas took a break from their song and Keith almost got killed in a traffic accident—but that was just the overture coming to an end and paving the way for the next act, where Keith would be stuck in his mid-twenties until the cicadas finished their song and Death came to collect him. Keith is 127 years old and has tested at least five different methods to summon Death (read: kill himself) but he obviously hasn’t succeeded yet. He wouldn’t be here otherwise.

Dying seems to be impossible for Keith no matter what he does and regardless of whether he’s careful or not, hence he can be usually found with a cigarette perched between his lips and doing reckless things. Waiting for Death to come get him and being unable to die hasn’t been fun at all, and he’s learned the hard way that there’s nothing worse than outliving people he once cherished and being forced to live a life he doesn’t want. There’s no purpose to it and all the things he’s lost have led to his decision of isolating himself and avoiding getting involved with anyone he might create an emotional bond with, but he’s somehow okay with engaging in casual conversation with the guy living next door every other time. He’s still human, after all.

Lance was already living here when Keith moved in a couple years ago after his last relationship came to an end and he realized that he couldn’t keep on lying to himself and trying to live a normal life. That’s what he craved the most (second to being able to age and die like everybody else) but he couldn’t have that because he wasn’t like the rest of the inhabitants of the city he’d helped rebuild when it got reduced to rubble and ashes. The policemen and paramedics he met on the summer of 1995 had lived happy lives and died of old age already whereas Keith was still alive and kicking, much to his distaste. Oh, how he envied them and their stupid mortality!

“Hey.” Lance’s voice interrupts Keith’s thoughts and brings him back to the present, where he’s standing in his balcony with his arms folded over the rail and a grim expression on his face. Reminiscing the past has never been an entirely pleasant experience and even though Keith has learned to live with the cicadas playing their song everywhere he goes, he’s come to find them awfully annoying and intrusive. “Finding your damn cigarettes took me forever. Why do you even like that brand? It’s old and the only place that sells it is at the other side of town.”

A pack of cigarettes is thrown in his direction and Keith easily catches it, then puts out the one he’d been smoking until then by stepping on it with his bare foot. It stings but he’s become familiar with this kind of pain, and he can’t help but smile when he sees the expression on Lance’s face. He hates it with Keith hurts himself on purpose and Keith is perfectly aware of it, which makes the whole situation a lot more hilarious because he can tell that his neighbor is holding back from scolding him or throwing at him a pair of his own shoes if that’s what it takes for Keith to stop putting out his cigarettes with his feet; it hasn’t happened yet but something tells him that Lance is the kind of person who would do that because he cares too much about the dumbest things. Like Keith’s feet.

“I’ve been smoking this brand for a long time, kid.” Keith says as he lights up another cigarette and takes a long drag from it, then blows the smoke in Lance’s direction because he knows that he absolutely hates when he does that. Why Lance is okay with going such lengths to get his cigarettes and why he continues putting up with him remains a mystery because they are not friends. “You could always get your gun and put a bullet through my skull, though. Right here.”

Keith watches then as Lance almost chokes on his lychee flavored soft drink and coughs a few times to clear his throat, his freckled cheeks dusted pink and blue eyes a little glassy. Oh, this will never get old. 

“Why do you always joke about wanting to die, man? What is wrong with you?” Lance asks, visibly upset by the distasteful comment and the fact that Keith thought he would ever use his gun for that. While Keith did feel a tad guilty for constantly suggesting that Lance could help him kill himself, he also couldn’t stop bringing that up because the other man’s reactions were hilarious. “You’re fucking awful.”

“Yet you went through the trouble of getting my cigarettes.” Keith smiles wider. “If only you were kind enough to shoot me, too…” 

Keith jumps back to avoid the can thrown at him by his neighbor but he still gets sprayed on with its remaining contents, and unfortunately even his cigarette is put out. His now damp clothes smell of lychee and his skin is starting to get sticky as the soft drink dries off but Keith isn’t angry—in fact, he cracks up laughing at the fact that Lance got offended enough to waste his drink on him.

“That’s it. I’m done with you and your jokes. Hell, I can’t tell whether you’re being serious or just enjoy being an asshole.” Lance is genuinely angry this time around but Keith doesn’t flinch and merely continues smiling, which further upsets the other man. “If your death wish is that strong and you’ve already made up your mind then go and do something about it—I don’t know, jump off a bridge or choke on something—but stop asking me to use my gun on you because I won’t do it.”

Lance makes a move to leave but Keith isn’t going to let him go that easily; he’s going to keep pushing at the young man’s buttons because Lance is such an interesting subject and Keith is curious about how long it’ll take for him to either break down or give in. 

“So, are you saying that you wouldn’t care if I died?” Keith asks. Lance stops on his tracks and turns to face him once more, and Keith can see that he’s already losing his patience. Good. Part of him wants to push Lance to a breaking point and force his inner demons out because he knows they’re there, hidden somewhere.

“Why should I? Isn’t that what you want?”

Keith shrugs. “I bet you’d change your mind if you knew every bad thing I’ve done and all the awful things I’ve seen. Then you’d finally understand why I crave death more than anything else in this world and why I deserve it.”

That isn’t an exaggeration. Keith has seen people die and he’s taken the lives of a handful of them as well, though he’d rather not go into details regarding the circumstances surrounding those occurrences. He’s outlived every single person that he’s ever cared about and there’s only so many losses and heartbreak that a person can withstand before starting to lose their humanity and sanity, and at this point Keith isn’t sure of how much of his own he’s got left. He also understands why Lance is reluctant to take his request because his neighbor is still young and must think that killing someone might get him in a lot of trouble with the law, but Keith has learned a thing or two throughout the years about how to get away with murder. 

(Not being able to die on his own and outliving everyone else might’ve played a somewhat important role there.)

“The fact that you’re a piece of shit won’t make me shoot you and get blood on my hands. What you’ve done has nothing to do with me and it’s not my job to punish people for doing bad things.” Lance says at last and Keith can’t help but laugh some more when he gets referred to as _a piece of shit_ because that’s one of the nicest things he’s been compared to. Keith has been called uglier names and gotten cursed at by so many people that he eventually stopped counting because keeping track of everything was tiring and a waste of time. 

“You’d be doing me a favor, though. I’m asking you nicely.”

“No, you’re being a selfish prick. Do whatever you want but don’t get me involved in this messed up situation. You’re on your own, man.”

This is when Lance goes back into his studio apartment and Keith can’t even say that he’s surprised by the way things unfolded between them. He was asking for something extremely difficult and morally incorrect thus it was perfectly understandable that Lance would refuse to even hear him out, but perhaps making him aware of his situation might change his mind and help him realize how important this was to him. Where would Keith start, though? Would Lance believe a word he said, or would he discredit his story and walk away as soon as Keith told him his real age and how he ended up like this?

They’re not friends –hell, they barely even talk but try to keep things civil between them— thus Lance isn’t obligated to help Keith out, but Keith is getting desperate and Lance is probably his last hope to put an end to the cicada’s song and finally get some rest. It probably wouldn’t be a peaceful one but at least the wait would be over at last. He’s tired and this is the type of exhaustion that cannot be fixed by sleeping the days and nights away, and even smoking and sleeping around have lost their initial purpose; Keith thought that perhaps he could give himself some kind of incurable disease that would eventually kill him to make him pay for his recklessness, but he’s still alive and his health isn’t so bad for someone his age that hasn’t taken proper care of himself.

Meanwhile the city below is bursting with life: faint sounds of laughter mixed with the occasional dog barking and cats yelling at each other rise to his balcony and the big screens on the buildings keep displaying vibrant commercial ads on loop, most of which feature celebrities whose names and faces aren’t relevant to Keith. He’s too old to care about such trivial things yet he can’t help but wonder if Lance follows trends and is interested in the latest celebrity gossip, or if he’s keeping up with the news and everything happening in the world. Keith’s kind of glad that Lance wasn’t alive when the civil war broke out because his refusal to grab a gun and shoot someone would’ve gotten him killed for sure.

Summer is almost over yet the cicadas are still pretty darn loud. Keith wishes they would shut up already but alas, there’s nothing he can do about it. And so the waiting game continues.

 

~*~

 

New Altea had changed quite considerably over the past hundred years and Keith happened to be around to witness the rise and fall and then the second rise of the city that has housed him for the past 99 years of his life. Sort of. He’d settled there when he turned 18 and could live on his own, and throughout the years he’d temporarily moved out a few times to hide the obvious fact that he wasn’t aging as he was supposed to, and like everybody else did.

He’s considered going back to the country side and live peacefully until his days were over, but he’s sort of grown fond of the fast-paced city and the hectic lifestyle he currently leads. What does Keith do for a living, you may ask? Put it simply, Keith is _that_ guy. Need drugs, weapons, or someone killed? He can take care of it, although it’ll cost you what it’s worth. Oh, is it money you need? Done. Just make sure to pay it back if your life means anything to you. Are you seeking to sell or buy confidential information? You can rely on him.

Despite how much Keith hates his life, there is a silver lining to being unable to die: Keith has acquired countless skills and made lots of connections with important people (most of whom were involved in illegal stuff), and he’s learned to tell when someone is bullshitting him within a couple minutes of knowing them. Oh, yes. 

Keith doesn’t like to think about the past and everything he’s been through, even if it all led to him being where he is today, although he wouldn’t say that he’s exactly proud of the jobs he’s had and the things he’s done because some of them were just temporary fixes to fill the void inside of him. At some point he got tired and sick of sleeping around and obeying someone else’s orders just for money and a living purpose, and Keith had decided that if he couldn’t die on his own then at least he’d control what kind of life he lived. 

Business has been a little slow lately but that’s alright because he might look twenty-four but there’s only so much that a body over a hundred years old can endure, hence Keith started working from home and therefore had the freedom to choose what requests he wanted to take. No assassination requests have been made in a while and Keith is grateful for that because that usually requires a lot of preparation and he still hasn’t learned how not to feel jealous of the people he’s asked to kill. 

Knock knock.

Keith rises a brow and glances over his laptop in the direction of the door, blowing out some smoke as he wonders who is standing at the other side and what business they have here. He never meets with clients at home and has been careful to keep his address private for obvious reasons, and his relationship with his neighbors and other tenants isn’t exactly good… or even existent. While he does try to keep things civil between him and his neighbors and does his best not to disturb the peace by bringing work and clients home, he can’t control the unexpected things happening in his life and the knock on his door immediately raises red flags in his head.

Knock knock.

Sighing, Keith gets up and makes his way over to the door with the cigarette still in his mouth, then leans in to look out the peephole. He sees nothing, which further confuses him, and decides to ignore all safety protocols he’s supposed to follow and goes straight to opening the door. If the person standing outside is an axe murderer that came for him then so be it. 

Knock—

Keith’s eyes widen in shock when he opens the door and learns that the one that had been knocking is none other than his neighbor, Lance. While the young man’s presence is a big surprise, the real shocker is the automatic revolver that he produces out of nowhere and points at Keith’s head, aiming for the center of his forehead. Didn’t Lance say that he would never use his gun on him? They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in months, so what’s the meaning behind all this? What triggered Lance to grab his gun and show up at Keith’s door after their unpleasant argument from one too many nights ago? More importantly, would he shoot? Keith’s mouth feels dry.

“Hey—”

“Quiet. Let’s go inside.” Lance presses the muzzle of his revolver to Keith’s forehead and the latter shudders in both fear and excitement, the fingers of his right hand curling out of habit around the grip of an invisible gun and his Adam’s apple bobbing when he gulps. He’s almost certain that Lance won’t pull the trigger but the fact that he’s holding a gun to his head is enough to make his heart leap with hope and something else he can’t quite pinpoint yet. 

Keith complies without any further coaxing from his neighbor and takes a few careful and calculated steps backwards, keeping his eyes on Lance’s face the whole time; he notices that his cheeks and ears are dusted pink and his lips are tightly pursed, and his blue eyes are dark and cold. Lance shuts the door with a movement of his foot and stumbles a little but manages to find his balance again, his arm steady thanks to his unwavering determination. What made him change his mind? Oh, Keith is so curious.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Keith ventures, catching Lance off guard when he stops in the middle of the reduced living space. The muzzle digs into his forehead and Keith’s breath hitches as a cold shiver runs down his spine and goosebumps rise on his skin. He’s overcome the fear and all that lingers is excitement. The cicadas aren’t happy about this turn of events but Keith couldn’t care less.

“You… I’m asking the questions here, not you.” Keith detects hints of alcohol in Lance’s breath and suddenly things are clearer. Is Lance drunk? He doesn’t look like it but he might as well be, if his behavior is any indicator of him being under the influence of alcohol, but since Keith has never seen him drunk he doesn’t know what signs to look for or how to deal with him. He’ll figure that out on the go, he decides. “Who the hell are _you_?”

The question is strange albeit not unexpected or illogical and Keith is still wondering what could’ve prompted Lance to get his gun and pay him a late-night visit after months of them ignoring each other’s existence. Should he ask? Should he answer Lance’s question? He could, but that wouldn’t be fun.

“I’m Keith, your very friendly neighbor.” He teases, and watches with great delight as Lance’s expression morphs into one of utmost disdain and annoyance. Keith decides to make things worse by blowing some smoke on Lance’s face right before he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and pops it between Lance’s chapped lips, who automatically spits it out. He coughs a few times, too, and Keith forces himself to keep a straight face despite the ridiculousness of the situation. “What can I help you with, Lance? Do you need some sugar, or have you perhaps decided to finally grant my wish and blow my brains?”

“Cocky, aren’t we?” Lance is definitely drunk and Keith is a little too happy about this whole situation because this may be his only chance of finally putting an end to his life and misery. His heart is drumming loudly in his ears yet he can still hear the cicadas playing their song, as if mocking his unfortunate existence. “Maybe I should do just that and rid the world of scum like you.”

Keith’s heart nearly stops upon hearing those words because that’s all he really wants. While he does have a death wish and is sure that no one would miss him if he died tonight, being called a scum that the world ought to get rid of is unexpectedly painful and the sudden pang in his chest catches Keith off guard. It’s been so long since he last allowed himself to get affected by someone else’s words that he isn’t sure how to cope with what he’s feeling, and this brief moment of hesitation from Keith’s part is all Lance needs to claim the upper hand and take control of the situation.

One moment they’re standing in the middle of the studio apartment and the next Lance has Keith pinned against the wall with his fingers tightly curled around the collar of his shirt and cheeks still flushed from having one too many drinks earlier, and Keith takes note of the tiny smirk that forms on his lips. Lance is pressing the muzzle of the gun to Keith’s forehead with such force that the latter wouldn’t be surprised if a bruise formed as a result of it, but no complaints are made.

“I think you should pull the trigger. Come on. Do it.” Keith presses after a few more seconds of silence between them although the cicadas are still playing and they’re driving Keith insane. It’s unfair, he thinks, that he can’t get a second of peace because those _damn_ insects won’t shut up and Death is probably too amused watching him being miserable to intervene and put an end to his suffering. This thought fuels Keith’s anger and intensifies his bitterness towards the world he lives in, and he decides then to make Lance the receptor of those negative emotions. How? Simple: he spits in his face and waits. “Do it, coward. You have no guts, do you? Come on! Pull the trigger!”

Lance sucks in a sharp breath and tenses up visibly, his jaw clenching and knuckles turning white as he tightens his grip around the gun in his hand, but the finger resting on the trigger doesn’t budge. Keith isn’t happy with the hesitation and hints of pity that appear in Lance’s eyes and spread across his face, especially because he thought it would take him a lot more to forgive him for spitting in his face. Maybe he should punch him. That should get a proper reaction out of him and hopefully this time Lance would give Keith what he deserved, preferably in the form of a bullet piercing through his skull.

“What’s taking you so long? I don’t have all night.” Keith insists but Lance doesn’t look that convinced anymore. No. He can’t afford Lance to change his mind now that they’ve got this far. “Come on, Serrano. Man up and make the world a better place.”

“Don’t tell me to man up, you pig—”

“Then shut up and shoot me!” Keith’s fingers close around other man’s wrist to hold his hand in place and closes his eyes when he feels himself starting to crack due to the immense pressure he’s been under for the past century or so. Gosh, he’s gotten old. “Please. Shoot me.”

The cicadas are still making fun of him and Keith wishes he could make them stop. For how much longer do they intend to play their song? Aren’t they tired? Don’t they have anything better to do than torturing a tired and old soul trapped in a young man’s body? 

“I can’t.” Lance says at last, his voice cracking and blue eyes filling with shame and regret. Keith, on the other hand, can feel himself starting to panic because Lance is still holding the gun to his head but has decided not to pull the trigger and he can’t understand why. Did he not give Lance enough reasons to shoot him? Didn’t Lance say that the world would be a better place without scum like him around? Was he not annoying and insensitive enough to make Lance hate him and want him dead? “I can’t do it.”

Keith could’ve torn Lance’s self-esteem to shreds by calling him a coward and other nasty things, but he’s so shocked to have been denied of the only thing he truly yearns for that all he can muster is a quiet “Why?”. He doesn’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.

“It’s not my place to take your life. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t—”

Desperation takes over and Keith swallows thickly, his hands flying up to Lance’s shoulders and fingertips sinking into them when he squeezes hard. Lance whines in pain but Keith doesn’t let go.

“Not even if I tell you everything I’ve done? I’m not a good person, Lance. I’ve killed. I’ve stolen. I’ve done illegal things and hurt other people. I’m tired. I’m so tired.” Lance’s breath still smells of alcohol, he notices, but his pupils are focused on him and this observation leads Keith to think that he’s probably sobered up a bit already. “Listen, I’ve been around longer than any other human in this city and I’ve had to say goodbye to people I loved. Living like this isn’t worth it and I don’t know when Death will come to collect my tainted soul. I don’t want to live another hundred years like this, so… I’m begging you. Please kill me, Lance.”

As expected, it takes Lance a moment to process the information thrown at him and his expression changes as it all starts to sink in, the guilt and shame morphing into confusion and finally anger because Keith must be trying to mess with his mind and he hates it. He’s no fool despite what other people might say to his face and behind his back and he feels a tad offended that, out of everyone who knows him, Keith couldn’t see that. A carefree and easy-going jokester is simply the mask that Lance chose to wear in front of others to hide his insecurities and deeply rooted fears, and the fact that he isn’t good at forming lasting bonds with people.

They’re merely acquaintances yet Lance may have been unconsciously hoping for them to be able to put away their differences and become friends because his gut was telling him that they had more in common than they thought. Was he being naïve for feeling that way about someone he barely knew?

“You just said… you just said you don’t want to live another hundred years like this.” Lance hesitates for a second before pulling the gun back and dropping the hand holding it, both of his arms dangling by his sides. Keith’s grip on his shoulders is still firm but his hands have begun trembling and his eyes are filled with an emotion that Lance can’t quite put a finger on. “What did that mean? It doesn’t make any sense. What does that have to do with you wanting to die?”

“Why do you care?” Keith barks out of habit, though he’s also worried and scared to come clean about his past and the real reason why he has a death wish. Moreover, he’s upset that Lance changed his mind and even put his gun away because that means he no longer intends to use it (not even to threaten him), and that Lance seems genuinely concerned and curious about what made him lose all hope and crave for death when there was so much to live for. “I—my bad. It’s a long story and I’d rather save us the trouble and disappointment. It’s not worth your time and I don’t feel like going over it anyway so do everyone a favor and pull the trigger.”

Lance’s frown deepens and he clicks his tongue, annoyed by his neighbor’s stupidity and stubbornness but hey, that probably didn’t happen overnight and something big must’ve happened in Keith’s life to make him so hopeless and bitter about life. Lance finds himself growing more and more curious about the other man’s past and soon he can’t stay silent any longer.

“You said a bunch of weird stuff and have been looking pitiful since I got here. I’m drunk but I’m not an idiot, you know. I’m not blind.” A sigh pushes past Lance’s lips as he takes a step backwards, finally putting some distance between him and Keith, and takes the liberty to start exploring the apartment. It’s very Keith-like, he thinks even though he doesn’t know his neighbor all that well, but the place smells like smoke and it’s devoid of anything that might remotely suggest any of Keith’s interests or reflect his personality. The walls are naked and the décor is practically non-existent and, contrary to what he initially assumed based on how little knowledge he possessed about him, the place is spotless and impossibly neat; Keith seems to be the exact opposite of messy Lance who has his walls covered with Polaroids, sticky notes, random paintings and whatnot—anything to distract him from his thoughts and how empty he feels inside. “Let’s hear it, then! I’m not giving you an option, uh… Keith Kat or whatever your last name is.”

This boy is truly something special, isn’t he? He’d barged into Keith’s apartment with his gun out, called him a piece of shit and claimed that the world would be better without him, and then decided not to do it anymore because, apparently, Keith’s tragic story and his feelings mattered. Should he put his walls down and be honest with Lance? The twisted part of his mind tells him yes, because maybe then Lance might understand how he got to this point and why he was practically begging him to shoot him.

“Kogane.” Keith straightens up and pats his thighs in hopes of finding a stray cigarette hiding in his pockets, but there’s nothing in them besides air and fuzz. Oh well. “My birth name is Keith Kogane although I’ve had to change it a few times throughout the years to… you know, protect myself.”

“Kogane, huh? How do you know my last name?”

“I researched you, obviously. Serrano is not a very common last name so I thought you and your family might not be from around here.”

“That is correct. You see, there’s this island called Cuba—a fantastic place, by the way, literal heaven on Earth—where my family lives.” Lance’s eyes light up at the mention of his homeland and his family and Keith feels suddenly a tad jealous because he didn’t get to enjoy his grandmother enough. Ah, he still misses her. “Cuba’s situation was starting to get better at last after years and years of oppression and even abuelita said she’d never been that happy before. She was hopeful that her grandchildren would grow up in a free country full of opportunities for everyone but alas, the peace and bliss we got a taste of were short-lived and our idyllic paradise became a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“Stuff.” Lance doesn’t delve further into it and Keith doesn’t press. “Bad stuff, I mean. I have many siblings but they’re either married and with their own families to look after, or too young to be on their own. I was right in the middle and when mamá saw an opening to get me out of there, she didn’t think twice about it. I miss them every day.”

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry to hear about that, leaving them behind must’ve been tough.”

“It was. As thankful as I am to you for listening and being sympathetic, you’re clearly avoiding the main subject here. What’s your story?”

It’s impossible to know whether Lance will believe him or laugh at him but what’s he got to lose? 

“You’re in for a very wild ride. I hope you’re aware of that.” Keith jokes although deep inside he’s genuinely worried and his inner child is terrified of having his secrets exposed after spending such a great part of his life trying to bury them underneath layers of bad choices and excesses that were simultaneously an attempt at concealing an overwhelming amount of guilt and loneliness. The wild thought that Lance might be the only one capable of understanding his feelings crosses his mind then. Well, he’s about to find out. “Let me say something first. You’re not obligated to believe me but if you could… you know, just _listen_ , that’d be really cool.” Keith’s voice loses strength by the end of the sentence and the last part comes out as an almost unintelligible mumble that Lance somehow has no trouble understanding. Sighing, Keith walks over to his desk and grabs an unopened pack of cigarettes on the way to the balcony, then pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights it up. That’s better. “I was raised by my grandmother until I was ten, when she died. My mother died shortly after my first birthday and my father also passed away during a fire—ah, he was a firefighter, if you couldn’t tell—so my grandmother took me in and I went to the countryside to live with her. All this happened before I turned ten.”

“Aw, you were nothing but a baby!”

“I was, indeed. I couldn’t understand half of the things that happened around me but since I enjoyed being with my grandmother I didn’t think too much about it. I wasn’t unhappy at all, but that’s because I was a terribly naïve and innocent kid and my grandmother was a saint, bless her heart.” Keith breathes out a puff of smoke and peeks over at Lance, who is currently leaning against the rail of the balcony and sporting a pout on his lips, then lightly nudges his side. “The summer of 1995 marked my life. Can you guess what happened then?”

“I’m guessing it was the point of no return?”

Keith chuckles. “One good day I was sitting on the porch listening to the cicadas when someone broke into the house and killed my grandmother—but that wasn’t just it. That summer I also met Death.” He waits for Lance’s reaction to this revelation but his neighbor remains silent, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The spot on his forehead where the muzzle of Lance’s gun was pressed to is starting to ache, too, and this will probably result in a very bad migraine. “Death sat down with me and said he’d make the cicadas play a very special song for me, and he’d come back to collect me when they stopped playing When I was twenty-four I got involved in a car crash that almost killed me but I survived, and that traumatic experience taught me a few things: one, Death wasn’t going to let me die that easily; two, my physical appearance wasn’t suffering any major changes besides the usual stubble, break outs and weight fluctuations.”

“In other words, you weren’t aging anymore.”

“Correct.” Keith confirms with a light nod of his head, relieved that Lance is genuinely paying attention to what he’s saying rather than jumping to conclusions. “I tried to take my life plenty of times but nothing seemed to work, or there was always some sort of interruption or flaw in the plan. I’ve loved and lost and there is only so much that the heart can take, you know.”

“That explains why you’re so bitter and angry at life. I thought you were just a hot-headed, selfish prick with a superiority complex.” Lance bites his lower lip and avoids Keith’s gaze on purpose, embarrassed to have prejudiced him without knowing what lied behind his obsession with death and continuously asking Lance to put a bullet through his head. Had he known it sooner, he would’ve tried to help Keith find healthier coping mechanisms or at least would’ve offered to be friends—actual friends, that is. “I’m sorry about tonight. I drank a little too much and I tend to do stupid things when I’m drunk.”

“You wanted to kill me!” Keith isn’t angry but rather amused, and Lance is relieved to know that his neighbor is such a cool sport and that there’s no bad blood between them. Keith spends a few moments in silence and Lance respects that, lets him have some time to sort out his thoughts and decide whether he wants to carry on with this conversation or change topics. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole to you, especially when you take time out of your day to get me my cigarettes.”

While Keith did make clear that he wasn’t a good person and that he’d done horrible things, Lance couldn’t help but feel happy to be told that he was useful and that his efforts were appreciated, even if this meant he was enabling Keith to ruin his lungs and smoke himself to death. Yeah, perhaps he ought to reexamine his morals and get Keith some nicotine patches instead next time. 

“So…” Lance starts, folding his arms over the rail and shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, turning his head to the side to look at Keith. Would he buy him chicken nuggets if he asked for some? He’s hungry. “You’re a fossil.”

“Shut it, Serrano.” Keith rolls his eyes and takes another drag from his cigarette, then blows out the smoke and both men watch as it rises to the night sky and eventually vanishes without leaving a trace. Lance is still craving chicken nuggets.

“You never had kids?”

“Have you been listening to me?” Keith scoffs and rolls his eyes, incredulous, but the corners of his lips curl up into a subtle grin anyway. “I cannot die on my own and I stopped aging a long time ago. My partner and kids would grow old and I’d remain the same, forever stuck in my mid-twenties. How could I wholeheartedly love anyone knowing that I might die any second—or never? How would I explain my situation to them? It’s better like this.”

“Damn. And I thought Benjamin Button had it rough.”

The unimaginable happens then and Keith _laughs_. It’s a quiet and dainty laugh but it doesn’t go unnoticed to Lance, who feels immensely proud to have elicited such a delightful response from the other man. It’s almost crazy to think that barely a moment ago Lance had his gun pressed to Keith’s forehead and the latter was begging to be granted sweet death.

“Hey, don’t discredit the man. I can’t imagine how difficult it must’ve been to be born as an old man and to age backwards. Now that’s something I wouldn’t want to go through.”

It is now Lance’s turn to scoff and then they fall into a comfortable silence where Keith for once isn’t thinking about death and Lance is still sobering up, and he’s begun to consider asking his neighbor to treat him to dinner or something. Would Keith agree, though?

“I thought you’d have more questions for me. I’m surprised you haven’t asked about the bad things I’ve done.” Keith’s voice sounds different and it takes Lance a moment to pinpoint how it’s different from before. _Ah._ Is he struggling with his emotions, perhaps? Is he scared? Lance doesn’t answer and lets Keith figure things out on his own (and maybe he’s worried about what he might hear, too.) Keith makes a disgruntled noise as he puts out his cigarette, then runs a hand through his slightly greasy hair to push it away from his eyes. Lance waits, curious. “I’ve killed people, Lance. I’ve stolen, lied, gotten into fights, and done so much illegal stuff it’s almost a miracle I’m still alive—I mean, it’s more of a curse but you know what I mean. I’m not a good person. I should’ve died a long time ago. I’m tired of living like this and the stupid cicadas won’t shut up, not even for one second and no matter how much I beg. I just—it’s hard to explain.”

Truth is that Keith has nothing to live for anymore and he genuinely believes that he’d be better off dead especially since he has nothing good to offer to the world. He shouldn’t even be alive anyway so what’s the point of trying to make life bearable and interesting? He’s done pretending to care. Why is Death taking so long to come get him? Hasn’t He tortured Keith enough? Not only has he gotten his heart broken and stomped on more times than he can count, but he’s been through so much at this point that he feels like he’s been stripped of his humanity and only a carcass of whom he used to be remains.

“Your story is hard to believe. I mean, you’re claiming to have lived over a hundred years and that you cannot die until Death decides it’s time for you to go.” Nothing Lance says surprises him yet Keith still feels a little disappointed and, honestly, that sucks. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not calling you a liar, just…”

Silence. However, Keith understands.

“Just.” He repeats quietly, wishing he hadn’t put out his cigarette yet because he’s starting to get fidgety and is low-key regretting his decision of telling Lance about his life. “It’s fine. I was hoping you’d change your mind after hearing about all the bad things I’ve done but you’re too wholesome and kind for your own good. _Too_ good, actually.”

“I guess you understand now why I can’t help you.”

“What if I told you I do illegal stuff for a living?”

Lance shakes his head and gives Keith an apologetic smile that tells the latter everything he needs to know. He’s so damn stubborn. “Sorry, man.”

Tonight the cicadas are especially loud, Keith notices. He’s usually able to shut them out in favor of focusing on other tasks and duties but it’s gotten so bad that their song is starting to overpower Lance’s voice. Don’t they have anything better to do? Aren’t they tired yet? Well, they’ve been doing this for a very long time already so chances of that happening are very low. He’s had enough for today.

“I think it’s time for you to go home.” He says and is surprised when Lance doesn’t protest. Maybe he’s been meaning to leave for a while but didn’t dare say anything out of fear. No, that’s not it. Lance isn’t afraid of him in the slightest and Keith is a little disturbed by this. How lonely must Lance feel to be okay with hanging out with a criminal like him? Is he that desensitized already? “Go get some rest.”

Lance straightens up and stretches his arms over his head, emitting a pleased noise when his bones crack. He says nothing as he makes his way back inside and Keith follows suit, leaning against a wall and popping another cigarette in his mouth because he’s got nothing better to do and his headache keeps getting worse. He still receives a look of disapproval from his neighbor when he turns to look at him with a hand already on the door knob. 

Yeah, Lance will definitely get him some nicotine patches on his next trip to the store because the smell of smoke is gross. He’ll also bring Keith some shampoo and force him to clean up before this gets out of hand.

“You’re not going to do anything crazy once I leave, right?” Keith rolls his eyes and slowly shakes his head, blowing out some smoke around the cigarette in his mouth. Lance sighs. “For the record, I would care if you died. I think I might be a little sad, even… so try not to die. Being away from home and my family is already hard enough and I don’t need any more trouble in my life.”

“Trouble is my middle name.” Keith jokes, but then adds, “I’m kidding. My middle name is Gerald.”

Lance scoffs and finally slips out of the apartment, leaving Keith alone with his thoughts, the cicadas, and their absurdly long song. Maybe he should’ve taken Lance’s gun from him when he had the chance, but it’s too late for that and there’s nothing else he can do at this point besides wallow some more in his misfortune. Seems like another sleepless night awaits him.

Somewhere, Death laughs at his disgrace.


End file.
